The Sound of Settling
by AnonymousLullaby
Summary: A collection of EdWin, TrishaxHohenheim, and Royai one-shots. Rated T just in case.
1. The Pseudoscience of Cooking

"Is too."

"Is not."

The two childhood friends glared at each other, the tension building in the air between them. The longer he stared the more he noticed the little things about her; although her face was scrunched up in annoyance and her eyebrows were furrowed, a curious light flickered in her breath-takingly blue eyes.

Edward's face flushed a pale pink color as his heartbeat began to rise slightly. He diverted his gaze to his pathetic stump of a left leg and cleared his throat. He couldn't help but think of all of the times he'd sat in that familiar room with Winry right there next to him, plotting out measurements and tinkering with his auto-mail arm and leg.

"What's wrong-are you ready to admit defeat?" Winry asked triumphantly, smugly resting her oil dappled hands on her hips.

"No!" Edward shot back, turning his embarrassment into defiance, "Cooking, yes that includes _baking_, isn't a science…it's…a hobby!"

Winry laid the wrench that she'd been wielding down on the table, Edward flinching as she did so, and almost knocked over her reliable wooden chair as she abruptly stood up. Ed watched in surprise as she wordlessly turned her back to him and began to walk away from her work station.

"Wait, Winry! I didn't mean it, really, come back!" despite his attempts she coldly strode past him and into the next room. Edward scowled and let out a long sigh of defeat. "Damnit," he muttered looking down at his useless half of a leg.

Two or three excruciatingly long minutes ticked by before Edward began to get bored of sitting in the silent room. "Al?" he called out hopefully before pausing to listen for some sign that his younger brother was in the house. When he was answered with silence he tried again, "Alphonse?"

A door creaked in the next room over but other than that he couldn't hear a thing. Determined to escape his boredom, he decided to find Winry himself and make amends for his comment, although he knew that _he _was right.

Edward pushed himself up off of the couch onto his unsteady leg, grateful that she hadn't taken his auto-mail arm yet. After what seemed like a lifetime he was able to meekly hop to the doorway and down the hall, following the sounds of metal clattering together.

By the time Ed reached the kitchen the muscles of his good leg burned with effort. He leaned against the frame of the doorway and took a break from trying to catch his breath to look up. His erratic heart jumped in surprise at the sight of Winry, her face and hands peppered with flower, standing in front of the rustic stove, her pale pink lips forming a small but content smile.

_Why…_

A hint of sorrow tinged his thoughts.

…_do I always seem to make her so sad?_

Winry turned to him, finally acknowledging his presence. She didn't say a word. A familiar and warmly sweet aroma hit Ed like one of Winry's notorious wrenches and he realized what she had just put in the oven. "Apple Pie," he smiled.

She turned away from him and wiped her hands on the stainless white apron that she wore.

"Winry…look, about what I said, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings I was just..." he paused, trying to find the right words to finish such a fragile apology, "I wanted to share my opinion with you."

She raised her eyebrows, skeptically placing her hands on her hips, "Is that so? It didn't sound that way to me. If you're allowed to _share _your opinion then why can't I voice mine?"

Edward glanced away guiltily.

"In cooking you have elements and compounds just like alchemy-"

"They're _ingredients_," Ed corrected.

Winry sighed, "Just hear me out, will you?"

"Fine." He muttered while folding his arms across his chest.

"The ingredients are made up of elements, everything is, Ed. Anyway when you cook you're combing all of these together to make something new. There's observation, a good cook always observes the dish they prepare. There's a hypothesis involved…sort of, like trying to guess what will happen if you add something new to the recipe…and then there's experimentation with different ingredients, and finally a conclusion-whether it's good or bad. See? It is a science!"

He gazed at her for a moment, taking it all in. He knew that she had a point but was hesitant to so abruptly admit it. He reluctantly gave her an answer, "I see your point but…I don't think it should be an entire field of science…more like a pseudoscience."

She raised her eyebrows, "A pseudoscience?"

He nodded, "It's kind of alike a compromise."

Her pale blue eyes lit up with happiness, "It's a deal then. Cooking is a pseudoscience."

He smiled and attempted to hobble over to the kitchen table on his wobbling leg. Surprise tingled through his veins as Winry wrapped her arm around his waist and ducked her head under his arm so that it was around her shoulder.

"Uh…Winry, what are you doing?"

"Helping you, silly, after all I kind of feel like a jerk for leaving you alone…" she replied with a small smile. He accepted her help gratefully, relief flooding through him as he finally sat back down on a chair beside the table. She let out a small giggle and pulled up a seat beside him.

"What?" he asked, perplexed, his skin still tingling from where her hand had rested against the side of his bare chest.

"You look pretty beat, Ed."

He scowled, "You are so not cute right now."

Winry smiled, propped her elbow on the table, and rested her head in her upturned palm, thinking, _does that mean he usually thinks I'm cute?_

"Al went with Grandma and Den down to the train station to pick up Mr. Armstrong; I hear he's coming to escort the two of you back to Central when I've finished with your adjustments," she informed him quietly, "It's going to be weird…we were getting used to having the two of you around again…"

Ed leaned back in his chair with a smile, "yeah…Al and I were starting to get comfortable here too...but…"

He didn't have to finish his sentence, she already knew. They had to get their bodies back.

Tears began to swell in Winry's bright eyes and he feared that they would spill over and streak down her flour-dappled cheeks. Yet they didn't. His golden eyes filled with sympathy, as he thought of her.

_I wish I didn't always make you sad…_

"So," Ed began, cutting through the tension in the air with his aloof tone, "when will the pie be ready?"

Winry sniffled and then smiled, "Ed, do you ever think about anything besides food?"

He longed to tell her the truth, to tell her that there was something-no, someone, whom he thought of much more than food. But instead he settled with a simple reply,

"What? I'm hungry…"


	2. Hero of War

**Author's note: (Disclaimer: you know the drill, I don't in any way, shape, or form own Fullmetal Alchemist)**

**I felt like doing a war scene...although I'm not very good at them, it was still pretty fun to write :)**

**(Pre-manga)**

**Love,**

**AL**

* * *

There was so much blood.

He shuddered, staring at the scene that was set before him. The cold memory of what had happened just moments ago forever etched in his mind.

"_Please just put down your weapon, I don't want to hurt you."_

His dark, widened eyes were sullen, reflecting the empty shell that he had become.

"Please," he whispered, clenching his white-gloved fists.

_The woman paid no attention to him; she tightened her grip on the gun and rested two bronzed, slender fingers on the trigger, pointing right at him._

_Her child, a young boy no older than eight clutched the hem of his mother's dress and peered out from behind her sheepishly, trembling in terror. The woman shook violently as she pulled the trigger._

A chilled breeze picked up the embers of the dying fire that rested at his feet and scattered them across the crimson-stained earth. He walked around the pathetic, withering fire and over to the two charred bodies sprawled out on the ground.

_The shells jumped through the smoke and with the snap of his fingers they exploded in the air. _

_Another snap and the woman collapsed, her fingers intertwined with those of her son's._

Not too far from the bodies he'd burned was a fellow soldier, lying face down in the dirt in a pool of his blood.

With shaky hands the young Flame Alchemist retrieved the woman's gun from her blackened remains. He held the sleek black weapon tightly, his mind racing. There was so much blood. Too much blood.

He raised the gun to the base of his skull, pressing the cold barrel against his flesh.

He could hear footsteps, the familiar sound of leather boots grinding into the gravel.

He closed his eyes and was about to press down on the trigger when a voice pierced through the darkness.

"Sir…?"

His eyes flew open.

A young woman stood before him, her navy blue military uniform was stained with dark reddish-brown splatters. Her long, tangled blonde hair fell messily past her shoulders.

She stared at him with warm amber eyes which widened as she realized what he was about to do.

"Roy!"

The gun began to shake in his unsteady hand as he stood there, facing her.

"Put down the gun."

It was too much. He had managed to get a hold of himself the first time the urge to die came about him, but this time he felt as if his arm would forever be frozen with the gun to his skull until he could pull the trigger.

"Roy," her voice was softer now, yet her face was plastered with fear as she slowly began to step closer to him.

His eyes stung from the plumes of smoke that were thrusted into the air by the flickering flames.

He was numb, unmoving, his body frozen in a state of fear and shock.

"A hero of war…that's what I'm supposed to be…" his voice cracked as he spoke.

Her hand curled around his.

"If I return home…th-they'll all be damn proud of me…"

She slowly peeled his finger off of the trigger.

"They…only see medals and scars…but they don't know the truth!"

He clenched his fist closed just as she slipped the gun from his hand and let it fall to the ground.

The sound of it toppling to the dirt snapped him out of his frozen state and he jerked his head to face her, to stare into her beautifully terrified eyes.

They stood there for a moment, staring at one another, before she threw her arms around his neck and scolded in relief, "You idiot!"

His legs fell out from under him and he sunk to the ground with her in his arms.

"The truth is," he began, staring at the meager flames that desperately licked the night air, "I'm a murderer."

She lifted her head, which had been buried in his shoulder.

While her eyes were fierce, her voice was gentle, "You've killed," she replied quietly, "you haven't murdered."

"Is there a difference?" his whisper struck fear into her heart, fear for the man whom she had learned to tolerate and even grown fond of over the years. He was disintegrating, like so many others did in the war, and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop him.

"Yes, there is."

He sat there, digesting her answer. There was never complete silence out on the battle field. In the distance the cries of pain and suffering echoed throughout the crumbling streets.

"A life for a life isn't an equal exchange, it doesn't get you anywhere. Killing yourself won't make this war go away; it won't mend any broken hearts or heal any wounds. You'll just be another casualty of the war," her voice began to crack, "You'll be left lying face down in the dirt, forgotten."

"Hawk…er, Riza? Will…you promise me something?"

She nodded.

"Please don't forget me."

She let out a sigh of relief.

"Don't worry sir; I'll always have your back."

He slipped his arms from around her waist and clumsy got up onto his unsteady feet. His lips formed a small, relieved smile as he stared down at her, the light beginning to return to his dark, intense eyes. He held out his hand and she took it gratefully.

He helped her up off of the ground and shoved his hands into his pockets, "Thank you."

She lifted her gaze up to the expansive night sky that stretched above their heads. A single star twinkled, dimly shinning through the layer of haze and smoke.

She looked back at him, meeting his eyes, with a small smile on her face. He offered her his hand a second time and she took it, slipping her fingers through his. They both stood there, surrounded by the heavy smoke with the stench of sweat and blood filling their noses.

Neither of them had any sort of clue as to what the dark, mysterious abyss known as their future had to hold. They did, however, know one thing for certain: they wouldn't be facing it alone.


	3. Waiting

**Author's note: ****(Disclaimer: I do not own any version of Fullmetal Alchemist or the concept of the series)**

**I was never able to finish the FMA manga series...or the anime haha. With the manga I got up to volume 14 and then I haven't read the rest :p**

**Wanting to fill in the holes of the storyline I was looking up what happens in the manga and while I was reading I realized what a deep connection Trisha and Hohenheim truly had..so i thought I'd attempt to reflect that connection through a story or two.**

**I hope I did this wonderful couple some justice :)**

**Love,**

**AL**

**(P.S. This is pre-manga for anyone who couldn't tell)**

* * *

The soft crimson glow of the embers was the only source of light within the cozy house. A storm raged outside as the darkest hours of the night crept upon her. She listened to the drops of ice as they splattered against the trembling, frosted windows. Her luminous eyes swelled with concern as she turned away from the dying fire to stare at the mighty, daunting front door. He would come home. She was sure of it. He would walk through that door, blue from the cold and covered in melting sleet. He would give her a loving smile as he peeled off his dripping coat, relieved to be home.

She bit her lip and waited a few moments longer, clenching the pale purple blanket that she had wrapped around her dainty shoulders. She was tired, exhausted even, and she found the promise of sleep extremely tempting. Her long, chocolate-colored hair spilled over her youthful shoulders as she stood up with a sigh, placing one hand on her swollen stomach. "I suppose you'd like some rest," she smiled gently as she spoke to the child that grew within her. _Their child. _

She turned around, ready to make her way down the hall and into their warm, welcoming bed when a long, low creak came from behind. She peered over her shoulder cautiously, and watched with wonderment as the door whipped over quietly and a mass of chilled, stinging air and crystallized flakes of snow rushed in. He stepped through the doorway and quickly forced the door closed and locked it once again, pushing the storm back outside where it belonged.

She smiled softly and met his dancing golden eyes.

"Trisha," he smiled, a hint of relief mixed with a satisfying happiness filled his voice as he pulled away his black overcoat and then his brown jacket, which had been darkened by the snow. He crossed the threshold of their living room, his shoes trailing water with each step closer her took towards her.

She wrapped her hands around his cold silk tie and loosened it before pulling him in for a passionate kiss. His icy lips at first came as a surprise to her but she became more relaxed as they warmed against her own. Hohenheim wrapped his arms around her and pulled her as close as possible, getting caught in the moment for a brief second before realizing that his damp clothing was causing her to shiver.

Slowly and reluctantly he dropped his arms and pulled his lips away from hers, sighing as he did so.

"What's wrong?" she asked thoughtfully while undoing his tie and slipping it from around his neck. "I am soaking wet, you'll catch a cold," he replied gently with a small frown planted on his prominently handsome face.

She a mischievous smile she intertwined her thin fingers with his and pulled him back to her to quickly meet for one more kiss, "All the more reason to get out of those clothes, don't you think?"

"It's good to be home," he smiled and began to unbutton his shirt, making his way down the hall to their bedroom with Trisha in tow. She shivered slightly as she walked, holding the dampened blanket in her arms.

She set the blanket down on a chair and watched as a single drop of water dropped from the fabric and fell onto the floor. "Are you alright?"

His voice brought her back from wherever she had wandered to and she nodded with a smile. Trisha folded back the covers and crawled sleepily into their bed, relieved to be off of her feet after a day of laboring around the town while carrying such a heavy belly. Hohenheim, stripped down to a pair of plain blue boxers and for the most part dry, slid into bed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect to be so late but I came across something interesting that I think may help us…" His voice was so soft as he spoke, his tone reflecting his gentle eyes. She turned to face him, lying on her side, "its fine, I don't mind."

Despite her words he still felt doubt and decided to press on, "You shouldn't wait up for me, you must be so tired."

"I will always wait for you."

He brushed a strand of her wispy hair behind her ear before murmuring, "And you shouldn't lie on your side, it's bad for the baby."

Trisha smiled, "Oh, I'm sorry; I mean you _are _the baby expert so I guess I better listen."

Hohenheim smirked, "I'm older."

"Yes, but I'm a woman," she countered playfully. He gently tickled the side of her ribs, causing her to squeal and roll onto her back as she laughed. Trisha plopped her head down onto the pillow with a content sigh. Placing one hand on her rounded stomach he leaned down and gave her a kiss, "You are going to be a wonderful mother."

"We. Well, not we are going to be wonderful mothers, but parents. Together, we'll be wonderful parents," she muttered, her coherency beginning to slip as she began to give in to the enticing notion of sleep. He paused and let the room fill with a strange, unsettling silence.

"Von?" her voice was barely above a whisper as her eyelids began to lull close.

"Yes?"

"Please don't think what you are thinking because it isn't true."

A great sadness overwhelmed him as he thought of his beautiful wife and their unborn child, "Trisha I-"

Her eyes fluttered open and he found himself staring into her soulful eyes, which appeared to be greenish-gray in their darkened room, "No. No more of this,"

She propped herself up onto her elbows and placed her hands on his, "This is our child. _Ours. _And he or she is going to love you, because you are their father. You are not a monster."

"Then what am I?" his voice trembled, his golden eyes tainted with fear.

"You are an amazing man," she began, gently pressing her lips against his collar bone.

"You are my husband," she left a light trail of kisses up his neck as she continued.

"And you are the father of my child," she concluded, giving him one final kiss on the cheek. She let her lips linger for a second or two before pulling away while still keeping her face close to his.

He couldn't help but smile, "Don't you think it'd be nice to have a little girl? Or maybe a boy."

Trisha smiled and accepted the subject change graciously, "Well it's bound to be one or the other."

She slipped back under the covers and rested her head on the pillow.

He stared thoughtfully at her as she once again drifted to sleep. "I like Edward," her voice drifted through the darkness and into his ears.

"It is a bit unconventional for a girl's name…"

"For a boy, silly," she giggled softly.

"Hmm," he had always been partial to the name Alphonse, but as long as she was happy so was he.

_Edward Alphonse Elric, _he experimented in his mind, switching out the names and replacing them with others. He sighed, unable to think of a suitable combination, _well, there's always time for more children I suppose. _He let the thoughts of naming wander from his mind and glanced back down at the captivating woman whom he lied beside. Her small frame rose up and down with every drowsy breath she took.

When he was with her he truly believed that he wasn't a monster, that he could be a normal family man with bright children and a loving wife.

"Trisha…" he wasn't sure if sleep had already taken the consciousness of his precious love, yet he called out to her anyway. She stirred in the darkness, "Hmm?"

"I love you."

She scooted closer beneath the blankets and rested her head against his chest, "I love you too."

After a few minutes the silence began to settle over them.

She spoke so softly at first that he wasn't sure whether he'd heard correctly or not,

"Von," she murmured, placing her hand on his chest, "Don't worry, we'll get through this. Together."

When you love someone, you have to open yourself up to suffering. Maybe they'll break your heart; maybe you'll break theirs and never be able to look at yourself the same way again. But those are the risks. She snuggled into his chest as he wrapped his arm around her, comforted by the warmth that her body brought to his. They shared a glance-one full of love and happiness, a kind of warmth that overwhelmed the soul and brought a smile to one's lips. And during that moment, in the long period of silence just before the dawn, they knew- for each other, they were willing to risk it all.


	4. The Heart Knows Best

**Author's Note: (Disclaimer: You know the drill; I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist in any way, shape or form.) **

**So this is a scene from Volume Fifteen, it's cute and one of my favorite scenes so I thought I'd tinker with it a little :p**

**I hope you guys like it =]**

**Love,**

**AL**

**P.S. The italicized male pronouns such as he, him, or his refer to Roy Mustang. I'm sorry if it's bothersome while reading, I did this so that no one would get confused and think that Riza was referring to Edward :p**

**

* * *

**

The redundant flickering of a streetlight just across the way was what first caught her eye. Its light bulb was slowly burning out and the miserable thing had been sparking on and off for a full week.

"Lieutenant?"

"I'm listening," she answered, still digesting what he had just said.

"…_the next thing I knew, I was standing in front of Scar begging Winry to lower the gun."_

That last line seared her heart like an open flame as the haunting memories of her blood-stained past began to seep back into her conscious mind.

"I've never seen her cry so hard before, I'm sure she hated Scar enough to want to kill him," Edward Elric leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table with a look of maturity far beyond his own age glowing in his mournful golden eyes.

She nodded sympathetically and zoned out once again, focusing on the crimson dappled gun that rested on the table in pieces before her, the one she had leant to Edward. With a deep frown Riza tried to picture the young and lovely Winry with the gun in her trembling hands while her finger numbly pawed at the trigger. Edward cleared his throat and said something more, but Riza only caught a small fragment of his words, "…it's easy to forget about the pain and loss she's lived with all this time…"

"Edward," she began softly, plucking a discharged bullet from the pile of gun pieces, "you've only got the luxury to worry about things like this because you made it back in one piece…no matter how difficult things get, no matter how foolish you look struggling under the weight of your burdens, you have to keep living…for the ones you love." As she said this, she saw _his_ face bright and clear in her mind as if _he_ were sitting right next to her.

Just picturing the intense warmth of _his_ amber eyes brought color to her cheeks. Before Edward could ask her about her sudden blush, she put down the hollowed bullet and declared, "You have to protect her."

He raised his eyebrows while taking a sip of his tea, "Huh?"

She picked up the barrel of the gun and shrugged nonchalantly, "You love Winry, don't you?"

Riza jumped slightly at the young man's reaction. At the mere mention of the word love and Winry in the same sentence, Edward spewed his tea all over the table while managing to get a few drops of the sickly sweet Chamomile onto the fluffed up fur of Black Hayate.

A drop of tea slid from the corner of his mouth down to his chin as he sputtered, "Sh-Sh-She's j-j-j-ust a…a ch-childhood friend f-friend, we're like family!"

"Oh my," Riza giggled and set down the barrel, which she'd been polishing. _It's far worse than I expected, _she mused and leaned back in her chair.

"Sorry," he muttered, wiping the table with an old dust rag.

"It's quite alright Edward," she smiled gently, resting her head in her hands.

_I remember when I would deny how I felt about Roy…_

She gazed out the window at the flickering street lamp once again; it shone dimly against the dark backdrop of night.

_It drove me crazy until finally one day I realized to just admit it, to accept what I was feeling… after all, the heart does know best._

She glanced back at Edward, who had an embarrassed smile planted on his flushed face as he rung out the tea-soaked rag.

…_but I'll let him find that one out on his own._


End file.
